


The Complications of Reality

by allourheroes



Series: Fake Mine [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, First Time, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas learns what went on in the alternate universe. He doesn't understand Dean's reasoning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Complications of Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Fake Mine." Set after "The French Mistake."

They were back. Solid walls and familiar faces. Now, Dean was up close with one he had only gotten a frightening glimpse of since returning.

“Dean.”

“Cas?” Dean was still feeling a little weird about what he was supposed to do now, since getting back from bizzaro land. Mostly around Cas. Especially around Cas.

The angel stepped towards him. “I…apologize for what Balthazar and I did.”

“Are you admitting you were wrong?” The fierceness in his eyes seemed to indicate there was only one proper answer to the question, but Castiel was a horrible liar.

There was a moment’s hesitation. “No, but, I perhaps could have…informed you beforehand.” The end of his sentence came out strained and there was a sense of indignation in the sound of his words. Castiel shifted his gaze from Dean to the wall of Bobby’s kitchen and back again.

Dean wrung his hands together, feeling out of place even though he knew he was home—or as close to one as he had outside of his Impala. “There was a fake you. He, uh,” Dean paused, considering his phrasing. “Virgil killed him.” It was simple and unbiased, and he wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe he was trying to explain himself and how had been acting somewhat off to his friend—not that the Emperor of Oblivious would notice—but he felt like Cas should know anyway. Why did he care about Cas knowing that? It’s not like the angel would care about some dude in an alternate reality pretending to be him.

Castiel simply nodded, lips pursed.

The Winchester chuckled dryly, tilting his head to stare up at Bobby’s fairly intact ceiling, smudges of broken devil’s traps still marring it despite Bobby’s best efforts to repaint them. No response came from the angel and Dean was overwhelmed by how typical that was lately, how different it was from the off-kilter man who looked just like him that Dean had been with only a few days before. “Who thought I’d miss that guy?” Castiel was silent. Dean wasn’t surprised. He swallowed, jaw tensing. “Guess you gotta go back now, huh?”

“Dean.”

“What?” Dean turned, facing away from the angel. “You know what, Cas? I’m sick of it.” A hand gripped his shoulder, and he looked back at Castiel. “I liked fake you. Fake you and me, we…we got along great. He didn’t fucking disappear after ten seconds with me.” He stared at the dirty linoleum of the floor as he spoke.

“Why are you trying to say, Dean?” His grip on Dean’s shoulder tightened, only confusion making itself known in his expression.

“Nothing, Cas. Human stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not incapable.” For once, his shoulders were stiff and upright rather than the slump they’d been—which had always seemed as if he’d given up. He was almost radiating power, like the night he’d brought them back to Bobby’s and away from Rapael. It was arrogant and it was aimed at Dean, for some reasons Castiel did understand and others he had no way of explaining through his still limited human experiences.

The man met his gaze, smirking. “You want the truth, Cas?” Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and Dean was new to this reaction from the angel, the odd way his hands shook and the shape his mouth took on. Why the fuck would he not say it? Shocking and angering angels of the lord were kind of his thing. “Fine. I,” he breathed in, the feeling of it heavy and forced, “fucked him. I fucked fake you.”

The angel’s hand dropped. He disappeared with the sound of wingbeats.

A moment passed. Dean realized how hard he was breathing now, fighting to catch his breath.

-

Sam and Dean were having a very uncomfortable diner breakfast.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Sam watched as Dean played with his fork, pancakes cut up but uneaten.

“Shut up, Sammy.” He stabbed at a piece of potato.

His younger brother cocked his head. “Seriously, man. What’s up with you?” He gestured towards Dean’s full plate, his own with only an orange rind remaining.

“Nothing.” Dean kicked him under the table.

“Dude.” Sam glared, annoyance flaring up in the pit of his stomach. And he had really wanted to try being sympathetic again.

Dean sighed. “Cas is being a dick.” It may or may not have been true.

“Uh…huh.” The disbelief was so blatant, Dean was suddenly self-conscious.

“Shut up.” He took one bite of pancake before he pushed the plate away and stood up.

Sam followed, but he looked back at the plate of food and, honestly, he almost felt bad for it, left in ruins and ultimately wasted.

-

“You call him.”

“Dean, he likes you better.” There was a slight huffiness to the way Sam said it, but Dean was doing his damnedest to ignore it.

“Yeah, well, he’s a dick. You do it.” His arms were crossed over his chest, like the petulant child he was being at that moment, refusing to make up with the dude he was supposedly going to have sex with. Wait, what? Dean tried to curtail that thought before it went any further. Just because fake Cas told him that was what the script of some TV show in an alternate reality he had been sent to by angels tricking other angels said. Well, that train of thought had been distracting enough.

Sam tensed his jaw. “Fine.” He closed his eyes and began speaking as if he had zero expectations that it was going to work. “Castiel, if you could maybe come down, we need your help. There’s been—”

“What is it?” Curt. Annoyed.

Dean gestured towards the angel, but his eyes stayed on Sam. “See? Dick,” he hissed towards his brother, somewhat aware of the fact that annoyed Castiel might mean Castiel-that-stayed and that there was a large possibility that it was exactly what he wanted.

Castiel tilted his head, gaze sliding from Sam to Dean. “I think you have me confused, Dean.”

“Nope.” Dean locked eyes with him.

“Really? You—” Castiel lost his composure. For some reason, this was very satisfying for Dean. “Do it yourselves.”

“No, no, no, wait, we really need your help,” Sam stepped between them, pleading with what was looking more and more like a very pissed off angel.

Castiel glanced at the taller Winchester. “I apologize, Sam. I need to speak to your brother. Inprivate.”

The phrase was so human, he couldn’t even think about arguing with him. “Oh…kay.” Sam backed away, despite Dean’s pleading looks and desperate hand gestures, and left the hotel room. Soda. Now that sounded like a good idea.

“Why?” Castiel asked Dean, quicker and sharper than he’d ever been with his human charge.

“What?” Dean was spluttering, half-pretending that he didn’t know and half in genuine surprise as to what the question could be about. Angels were weird. Who knew what set them off. Or, at least, that’s what Dean tried telling himself while his heart began pounding in his chest.

“Why would you sleep with a man who looked like Jimmy?” Cas looked away, then down at his vessel.

Dean scrunched up his face. “I didn’t think about it like that. He… Nothing. He just told me about some script and then he was all over me.” Dean chuckled, giving his best unsure smirk to the empty space next to Cas—hoping to lighten the whole thing and perhaps avoid the wrath of an angel of the lord that he wasn’t quite sure why he might deserve. The wrath, not the angel. He and Cas never… Nothing.

“Script?” Castiel’s hardened expression changed to befuddlement.

“Yeah, we were—uh, fake us, fake all of us—we were all actors.” He said the word with disdain, as if it was the most ridiculous thing that had ever come out of his mouth.

“Dean.” There was a warning tone in his voice that had Dean feeling a little awkward, what with the contents of the script.

The Winchester laughed, nervous. “Oh, uh, he said that you and I were going to…well, you know.”

The angel stared at him blankly. “No. I don’t know.” Castiel’s deadpan was always perfect.

“He said we were gonna fuck.” He flinched at how crass he sounded saying that to a freaking angel, especially considering how much he knew about this one in particular.

Castiel titled his head, eyebrows knit together as if he couldn’t understand. For a second, Dean was unsure if he did. “You and I?”

“Well.”

“And this caused you to sleep with him?”

Running his fingertips over the surface of small wooden table near the window, Dean shrugged, smirking, “Well, yeah.” He cleared his throat, and tapped the table once before bringing his hand up to his chin, rubbing it against the five o’clock shadow he had going on. “I mean, uh, he threw himself at me. I didn’t want to blow my cover.” His voice came out gruffer than usual and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and his head screamed at him for saying anything in the first place.

“He and I aren’t the same person, Dean.”

“Well, no, he’s…fake you.” Dean looked confused, attempting some sort of innocence that he knew he couldn’t achieve having told on himself to begin with. “You’re…you you.”

Cas nodded ever-so-slightly. “I understand.” He didn’t, and Dean knew it.

“Hold up.” He moved towards the angel. “Are you upset?” The very idea of it sent an uncomfortable thrill up Dean’s spine, the longstanding desire to be cared about even if it was through making Cas…jealous. The feeling of guilt that twitched at this thought was suppressed by the awkward happiness it gave him.

“Why would I be?” His nostrils flared, his eyes glittering and dark, glancing upwards—looking for an excuse from above to exit this conversation. It wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with nor one he wanted ever find himself experiencing again.

Dean grinned. “You’re jealous.” He hadn’t even meant to say it, but it was too exciting to keep in.

“No, I’m not, Dean. Why would I care who you slept with? Although.” That couldn’t be jealousy. Why would he be jealous? Was this what it felt like? Because this was horrible.

Dean was thoroughly enjoying this. “Yeah?” There was a smirk pulling at his lips just at seeing Cas acting so human. Nothing else. Okay, maybe a little.

“I don’t quite understand why you would sleep with…‘fake me.’” He shifted. “You’ve never tried to…copulate with me. Or Jimmy, as far as I’m aware.”

He ignored the implied question, preferring to continue his teasing of the flustered angel. “Did,” he started, then the Winchester checked the door, lowering his voice. “Is that what you want? Got an interspecies hard-on for me or something?”

“It’s not strictly forbidden,” Castiel said softly, matter-of-factly. “Not that the knowledge would need to be shared in heaven.” He didn’t move any closer.

Dean did. “I mean, I know I say I’m not into that, but are you telling me that I could’ve been banging you six ways from Sunday this whole time? I didn’t know that! You shoulda said something, man.” He wasn’t sure if he himself was serious or joking. Couldn’t it be both?

The angel was silently decoding what Dean had just told him. “You did, however, ‘bang’”—oh, the air quotes—“someone who looked exactly like my vessel within a day of your meeting.”

“I’m…sorry?” Dean tried. “Other than the getting way too close thing, how was I supposed to know you wanted something from me? Why do you care?” When Dean had felt self-consciousness coming forward and self-esteem taking a small dive below, he took the offensive position, but he was trying to suppress it—really.

“It’s not of import.”

“No.” The Winchester’s face was mere inches from his. “You tell me now.” Redness crept up his cheeks like a kid finding out his crush liked him back. “If you’re going to continue being a dick about it, give me some other reason, if it’s not jealousy.” His breath was hot on Castiel’s face.

Castiel pursed his lips, attempting to remain the stoic warrior of heaven rather than the covetous thing he was becoming.

Dean cupped Castiel’s face in his hands and pulled it towards his, testing the water. “Is this what you wanted?” Castiel swallowed hard, composure failing him again. His lips moved faintly but no words escaped his lips. Dean took it as a sign and crushed his mouth to Castiel’s. The angel’s mouth opened in surprise and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in, sliding it against Castiel’s in the warm depths that greeted him. Cas returned the kiss immediately and aggressively, shocking Dean with the greediness of his mouth and hands as he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, pulling their bodies close, fingers curling almost painfully into Dean’s back—wanting, needing, _coveting_.

Kissing Castiel was nothing like kissing Misha. And Misha most certainly hadn’t held onto Dean as if his life depended on it.

The kiss went on for a little longer than Dean could go without more breathing when Castiel pulled away. “You should have tried me first.” It wasn’t his gravely voice that emerged, but a guttural growl.

The Winchester was momentarily speechless as he stared into the lust-filled blue that were once Jimmy Novak’s eyes but were now unmistakably _Castiel’s_.

There was a knock on the door. “You guys work it out?” Sam called.

Castiel didn’t let go, even as Dean tried to pull away, his splayed fingers pushing the angel’s chest away, palms flat against his pectorals.

“Cas, Sam.” Dean glanced at the door, nervousness bubbling up inside of him, but Castiel’s grip tightened.

“Dean. I do everything for you…” He let go. “Despite your affair with Jimmy’s doppelganger and your apparent carnal interest in me, I don’t know what you want from me. Are we supposed to not tell Sam? I thought you were completely honest with each other again.” He knew the words would cut into Dean. He wanted them to. The threads of guilt, which Castiel was very familiar with, began to tie themselves around this human heart he had to keep beating, tightening until he couldn’t stand any more of it.

Another knock. “Guys?”

“Look, Cas, can we, uh, discuss this later? I mean, we really do have a case…” Dean stared at the door, stance conveying the full amount of discomfort he was feeling.

Castiel stared at the door a second before looking back towards the hunter. “I’ve developed feelings because of you, Dean. _For you_.”

“Cas…” He was pleading and warning and hoping to some absent god that Castiel wasn’t going to tell Sam or do anything that might give them away—whatever they had become in the last couple of minutes. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t even sure what had just happened, how could he even try to explain to his brother that not only did he have a thing for their guardian angel but that he had only discovered it by fucking some guy named _Misha_? There were a million reasons shooting through his mind as he considered what he had done and what he would do.

Castiel was merciful. He took a step back from Dean. “Come in, Sam.” A flick of his wrist and the door unlocked.

Sam opened the door and took in the sight of them. Castiel looked the same as ever, in fact, suspiciously so. Dean, however….well, Dean’s face was flushed and he was shifting uncomfortably, eyes flickering over to Castiel’s clenched fists and upwards, stopping short of the angel’s face. Well, this was awkward. Nevertheless, they had monsters to hunt.

-

The case had turned out to be much simpler than they had thought, especially with Castiel’s help. It had only been a couple of witches—that may have summoned a demon or two to their aid. Sam was feeling stupid about not having figured it out sooner, but he was still grateful to the angel, what with Dean having nearly been gutted out of carelessness and Cas smiting the hell out of the demon that had tried it. To be honest though, he was wondering why Cas had stuck around through the whole thing.

He nodded towards him in appreciation and Cas responded in like. He watched as the angel’s gaze rested on his brother, unwavering. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, untying the laces of his boots and pulling them off, seemingly ignorant of Castiel’s attention. Sam also suspected that he was at least a little embarrassed at having almost been killed by a single demon and ultimately indignant at Cas for having saved him. That was the Dean way of doing things.

His brother finally glanced towards the angel, slowly looking up to meet his eyes before his own quickly looked away, “I guess it’s time for you to go back up to angel land, huh?”

Castiel’s hand settled on his shoulder, causing Dean to tense with panic, which the angel noted with exasperation.

“What’s up, Cas?” he tried, failing to sound aloof as he slid out the knife that had been strapped to his ankle, cutting himself slightly with his shaking hand as he did so. Not that he let on about it.

“We need to discuss your time in the alternate reality.” Castiel’s voice was as even as ever. Dean hated him for it.

Sam took pity on his brother’s anxiety, despite his own curiosity, “What do you need to know?”

Castiel’s mouth opened to answer, but Dean cut in before he had the chance. Apparently he’d rather just get over it. “You know, Sam, I could really go for some pie. And you owe me for last week—McDonald’s apple pie is not real pie, Sam.”

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes, but he’d be compliant. Whatever was going on between Dean and Cas, well, they should probably figure it out before this awkwardness went on. He grabbed the keys and noticed that Dean didn’t protest, preoccupied by the angel on his shoulder. He gaped at them, but only for a second, before he was heading out the door. He wondered if Dean would even remember the pie later, ’cause he saw a nice Ethiopian restaurant down the street that Dean would never go for. Who was he kidding though, of course Dean would remember _pie_.

His absence left Dean and Castiel alone in the room.

Silence settled over them as Castiel’s hand remained on Dean’s shoulder. Dean couldn’t stand it any longer. “Come on, Cas, he looked like you. It’s not like I knew you had some secret thing for me.” His words came out harsher than he had been trying for, but he couldn’t shut his big mouth, “Who I fuck is none of your business, anyway. I’ve been—”

“Dean.” That tone could stop bullets.

Dean swallowed, gulping down as much air as he could. It had been a very long time since Castiel had spoken to him like that, somewhere in the back of his mind _I could throw you back in_ echoed through him.

He hovered over Dean, appearing larger than before and the hunter felt almost as if the presence of the angel’s wings filled the room, surrounding him.

Castiel gripped his shoulder and pushed him down with the slightest effort. It might’ve even seemed gentle, but, _goddamn_ , did it hurt. His mouth opened but he couldn’t force the words out with Castiel’s gaze boring into him.

“This,” one hand gestured to his vessel, “is nothing like my true form.”

As Dean started to speak, Castiel leaned over the bed—over Dean, half-kneeling on the edge of the mattress, “I don’t think I could handle your true form considering what this one can do to me,” Dean joked, becoming very aware of the heaviness pressing down on his shoulder as the angel had practically perched on top of him.

Castiel softened. “I suppose that’s true,” he agreed, no humor in his voice, but no desire to accidentally hurt Dean over what was truly a personal problem. Both knees were on the bed now and he moved to straddle Dean’s thighs.

Dean’s eyes widened, but he had an idea, something to diffuse the on-edge, confused angel on top of him. Reaching a hand towards Castiel’s free one, he laced their fingers together. Castiel’s eyes widened and it took all Dean had not to wait and wonder how sad it was that Castiel had never had this before, that Castiel wanted this with him, was amazed by him. He had made that off-handed comment about Cas popping his cherry to Misha, but it was only now that he realized the significance. Was this when it was supposed to happen?

It didn’t matter if it was or wasn’t, Dean was going to do what he wanted. He shrugged Castiel’s hand off of his shoulder and onto the mattress next to him, pulling Castiel’s hand in his down towards him, brushing Castiel’s knuckles against his lips.

“Dean…what are you doing?” The angel was surprised and, if Dean and his ego weren’t imagining it, flustered. His mouth hung open ever-so-slightly. The Winchester reached up, hand curving around Cas’s neck, dragging him forward to Dean’s mouth. Cautiously, the hunter pressed his lips to Castiel’s.

It was too intimate. It was too much. Dean was abruptly cold and alone. And hard.

He sat up and searched the room quickly, to no avail, and sighing, flopped back down onto his pillow.

-

Three days passed with no sign of the angel.

Dean wasn’t worried about his safety. Cas could handle himself pretty damn well. There was, however, the niggling feeling that he had done something wrong, that he had, very personally, caused Castiel’s temporary disappearance.

Sam was at the library. Dean had refused to go, citing the fact that he couldn’t eat at the library and that they couldn’t really talk about the case if they did find something there anyway. Who the hell used the library anymore? Sam had given him the usual “whatever” and perhaps some “it wouldn’t kill you to do some research,” but Dean just blocked it out.

Time to try to make up with the one angel he could stand. “Cas.” Where to fucking begin? Maybe somewhere a little less private. He went towards the motel room door, switching back at the last second to grab his jacket. He headed out again, closing the door behind him.

Wings.

The angel stood in front of him, as impossibly close as always, breath ghosting over Dean’s face as the Winchester blinked. “Jesus, Cas,” he managed, arms back against the door in support, jacket slipping from his fingers.

His blue eyes were practically glowing as Dean looked at him. _Fuck it_. He grabbed the lapels of the trench coat and pushed it off Castiel’s shoulders, taking away some of the way he always seemed so imposing. It dropped to the ground.

Cas didn’t move.

Dean began to reach for his hands, but Castiel grabbed his wrists—no other sign of movement or acknowledgement—and held them for what seemed to Dean like forever.

The hunter squeezed his eyes shut, imagining all the possibilities pissing off an angel might bring as the grip on his wrists began to tighten. The angel’s breath felt warmer on his face. His wrists were brought up, pinned to the hotel room door. He let his eyes open, barely slits, before they fell closed again, the angel’s lithe frame tightly pressed to him.

The lips on his were soft at first, becoming more insistent as hips ground into his. Castiel’s mouth worked his open, tongue pushing past his lips and teeth to explore, meeting Dean’s and sliding against it. Their chests were so close it felt like their hearts were beating in sync as Castiel devoured Dean’s mouth,

lightly biting Dean’s lower lip then getting rougher, close to drawing blood—Dean gasping for air—as he continued to advance his efforts. The hunter responded, pressing himself against Castiel as best he could with his hands still restrained.

The angel stopped. He stepped away, hands dropping back down to his sides like he had only just appeared. “Dean.”

He sounded broken though, wrecked like an angel shouldn’t be. In an instant, the Winchester was wrapping his arms around him, reaching back to ease the door open behind him, pulling Cas into the hotel room, hooking his fingertips in Castiel’s. The trench coat and jacket remained on the ground outside as he shut the door, enclosing the two of them into the increasingly small room and unintentionally leaving Sam evidence with which he could draw some very interesting conclusions from.

He was staring at Dean. Just staring. His hands and lips trembling as Dean loosened his tie. “Where’s Sam?”

“Library,” the hunter replied, resting his forehead against Castiel’s. His hand came up to the angel’s chin, tilting his head so their lips were nearly touching. He whispered against the other man’s mouth, “What do you want, Cas?” Dean breathed out against the angel’s lips, kissing him so lightly it was almost imperceptible now. “What are you expecting from me?”

A sigh made its way from the angel’s parted lips and he pressed them to Dean’s again, gentle, coaxing. Dean wondered how Castiel knew so much about how to make him weak.

It lasted only a few seconds, each making Dean more nervous than the last.

Dean wasn’t the gentle, first time guy. He was the ‘I prefer experienced women,’ picking up girls at bars kind of guy. He had no idea how he’d gotten into this situation.

But here he was. An angel whimpering into his mouth as he pressed himself to Castiel’s overly warm body. Dean was pretty sure this was about a million types of wrong as he slid his hands down Castiel’s stomach to extract the wrinkled, white button-up from his slacks. His fingers deftly began unbuttoning the shirt between their bodies. Castiel seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with himself now, despite his earlier fervor. It reminded Dean again just how new this still was to something so old.

“Are you sure, Cas?” he murmured, lips on the angel’s neck. Dean certainly wasn’t. He had no intention of hurting someone so close to him, so _important_. He pulled Castiel’s tie loose and worked it over his head, hands going back to the white fabric covering Cas’s upper body. He yanked the shirt off, along with the suit jacket, down Castiel’s slender arms and past bony wrists, and when they fell to the floor, the angel’s hands grappled for Dean’s waist and began pulling at Dean’s shirt.

Dean lifted his arms up and Cas had his shirt up and off of him in only a second, yearning for the feel of bare flesh to bare flesh. He just held himself close to Dean for a moment before tentatively going for Dean’s fly, tugging at it, attempting to undo the button—Dean quickly moved in to do it for him, kicking off his shoes as he went, then sliding out of his jeans, he worked on Castiel’s slacks, taking his time to share slow, sticky kisses with the angel as he did.

The hunter grasped Castiel’s hands, moving him closer to the bed, forcing him to step out of his shoes and his pants that had fallen around his ankles. They were both only in boxers and socks now and Dean could really look at him. He could see the scarring on his chest from the sigil he’d used on his brothers—and himself. Dean’s fingertips skimmed along the outline of it, he was mesmerized by it, by what Cas had done for them. He had risked everything that day—again.

Castiel stared at him, watching the slow movement of the Winchester’s eyes over his chest, down his legs, and finally back up and into his eyes. Green meeting blue and Castiel wondered if this was some form of intoxication because he couldn’t think of anything but being closer to Dean, as close as human bodies would allow. He wrapped his arms around the hunter’s waist, so close but still not close enough, bringing their lips together again to delve his tongue into Dean’s mouth, to taste him, to know him in every way that he could. His hands slipped down to the waistband of Dean’s boxers and he tugged at them impatiently, dumbfounding the righteous man who was only just realizing how much this all meant.

Dean let his eyes flutter closed, attempting to calm himself. This wasn’t an accident. For once in his life, he was pretty damn sure this wasn’t a mistake. He swallowed down the feeling of being overwhelmed by the importance of it. “Lay down,” he requested, breathing shallow, aiming Castiel at the bed. When the angel had done so, he crawled on top of him, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck, his chest, his abdomen, and onto each hip. Slowly, he tugged at Castiel’s boxers and the angel lifted his hips encouragingly, allowing Dean to pull them off down his legs. As he pulled them past his still sock-clad feet, he couldn’t help but smile as he pulled those off as well, then sitting up to pull off his own.

Castiel waited patiently, his toes flexing and relaxing as Dean moved over him, hovering above him. Dean glanced down at his own tented boxers and Cas’s hands quickly pushed them off of him, revealing his dick.

Grabbing Dean’s shoulders, the angel bucked up towards him, mouth making little desperate noises that made his cock twitch. Dean let his hips fall enough for their dicks to rub against each other, causing Castiel’s eyes to go wide at the sensation. Dean moved against him, sliding his cock against Cas’s, and leaning in to catch the angel’s open mouth with his own, capturing the unabashed moans and gasps that were escaping from Castiel.

“Dean. I need—” He thrust his hips up toward the friction, his dick hard and wanting. “More. Please.” Castiel’s fingers gripped Dean’s shoulders painfully, uncontrollably.

Trying hard to continue supporting himself with a distressed angel underneath him, Dean murmured against his ear, “D’you want me to fuck you?” He gasped as Castiel bucked up against him more forcefully.

“Now.” The angel arched his back, undulating his hips, doing whatever felt natural and instinctive and Dean knew he had to stop for a second, to find _something_ to use. He groped around the nightstand and found lotion—Sam didn’t need to know what he was using it for.

Dean reached between their bodies, fingers slicked, he swirled one around the angel’s ass and checked Castiel’s reaction—the angel was squirming and needy and nodding his head fervently—before he pushed one in slowly. The body beneath him went still very suddenly, bright blue eyes staring into him so earnestly Dean wondered if he’d done something wrong. He slid his finger in a bit more, crooking it as he did, eliciting a gasp from Castiel.

“Dean…please. Just fuck me,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

Steadying himself, the Winchester took a deep breath, “Gotta do this first, Cas…” He stroked inside of Cas with his finger a bit more before adding a second, causing the angel to shift at the feel of him pushing past tight muscle. He knew he wouldn’t be here if Castiel didn’t want him to be.

The angel groaned and squirmed again, “Please.” Dean had never seen him so impatient and, yeah, it was a major turn-on.

The hunter sat up on his knees between Castiel’s thighs, stroking himself with the lotion and trying not to hurt him—although he wasn’t sure if he could, he didn’t want to break something else, another thing he cared so deeply about. He slid out his fingers and Castiel’s body slumped into the bed. “You ready?”

Cas nodded and Dean guided himself to his ass. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbled as he pushed into him. After what seemed to be years of foreplay, the feeling was almost all-encompassing. The angel’s legs spread to urge him to continue, hips pushing him more onto Dean’s cock.

Dean moved up over Castiel, and thrust into him, wholly and completely.

The angel’s body shook. “Dean.” He sounded worried, confused by the human feelings overcoming him.

“I got you, Cas,” he whispered, eyes locking with Castiel’s again, hips moving of their own accord. He thrust into the heat below him, slow and unsure now that he was doing the right thing. Dean began pushing into him steadily, angling his hips until Castiel’s hands shot to his hips, pulling him in even deeper and holding him there, moaning so loudly Dean was sure they’d be getting noise complaints.

“Dean.”

He couldn’t move, locked into place by the angel’s hands on his hips and legs tangling into his own. “Want me to stop?” He kissed Castiel’s shocked mouth, sucking his bottom lip into his own mouth and biting it. He pulled back and looked at him. Castiel shook his head and let go of him, hands skimming up his back and nails scratching his shoulder blades.

Dean slid out and rammed back into him, causing another ear-shattering noise to come out of Castiel. Breathy gasps would follow it, as if he needed more air. “Deandeandeandeandean.” The way Castiel repeated his name with such urgency…well, Dean couldn’t hold back.

He paid no mind to the words that escaped his lips as he pounded into the angel below him without mercy, messy and quick and trying to keep hitting that spot in him that turned him into a wreck underneath him. “Fuck, Cas. So good…so fucking fuck…want you…” He speared his dick into him again and again, squeezing his eyes shut as Cas curled his head in towards him, pressing himself to Dean’s chest. Dean could feel the angel’s dick rubbing against his stomach, hard and sticky and needy and Dean grabbed it, stroking him with the staccato rhythm of his thrusts. “Gonna make you…” He continued pounding into him, rotating his hips, hitting that spot inside Cas every time he plunged into him.

Castiel’s fingertips were digging into his back and he was beyond noises now, body moving instinctively against Dean’s, wanting more, feeling something building up inside of him, when suddenly, “Dean.” It came out scared and desperate and Dean wrapped an arm around his neck before he slammed his head back, going completely silently as he came.

Dean could feel him pulsing around him, shooting hot and sticky between their bodies, and the feeling of Cas coming on him pushed him that last little way over the edge, filling up the angel with him.

Castiel didn’t move after a minute and Dean started worrying, now that he could think again. What if this ruined things between them? It was too intimate. He knew that. He knew he should have ignored what that Misha guy said. He should’ve left Cas alone. He should’ve let them go one pretending there was nothing. He should’ve—

“Dean.”

The Winchester’s breath caught in his throat, mind blanking.

“I’m sorry about my inexperience. ‘Fake me’ would’ve known better.” There were no air quotes this time, but Dean could hear it in his voice. Castiel was staring at the ceiling—or through it, Dean wasn’t sure—but his eyes flickered to the Winchester for a brief moment and away again, Cas adjusted underneath him and Dean removed himself from the angel’s body.

For a minute, Dean was stunned. He stayed over Castiel, discomfort be damned, and decided to be very honest, “Cas…I was only…” he paused, searching for the right words, “with him, ‘cause I never thought I’d be with you.” Embarrassed by the sentimentality of it all, Dean rolled off of Cas and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Come on, we gotta get cleaned up before Sam comes back.” He dared himself to look back at Cas only to see a look so full of despair he couldn’t take leaving it like that, “Cas—” but he had disappeared, along with Jimmy Novak’s clothes.

Dean’s eyes darted up, tears he had no desire to face forming and blurring his vision. He quickly wiped at his face with his clean hand and headed for the bathroom.

He cleaned himself up and washed his face. Looking in the mirror, it wasn’t unusual for him to hate what he saw there. What had compelled him to fuck a friend? Those feelings… Well, fake Cas must’ve put them there. He was all over Dean without a thought (okay, so maybe he thought Dean was his boyfriend or whatever), so what was Dean supposed to have done? Refuse sex? And he put that idea in his brain—that he and Cas— No. It was a mistake. Why couldn’t he see? Oh, right. He was crying. _Suck it up_ , he told himself, but before he could stop, he noticed what was actually coming out of his mouth, “—sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry. I wanted your first time to be… What that guy… I’m sorry.” He stared down into the sink drain, hands stabilizing himself on either side. He felt like he was going to be sick.

He gathered his clothes and got dressed, ripping the comforter and sheets from the bed they’d been on. Where he and Cas had— He tried hard not to think about what he’d done. Hell, he’d not just fucked him, he’d practically _made love_ to him. The words brought back the churning feeling in his stomach and his chest tightened. He barely made it to the toilet as the bile rose and he puked all of his disgusting feelings into the porcelain bowl.

When he washed his face this time, he didn’t look up.

He turned off the sink as a key slid into the motel room door and Sam walked in.

“Dean?” Sam was worried. Probably because he’d left the room a mess. Sam was likely assuming he’d been attacked and his intestines might be littering some corner of the room he had yet to search.

He held his breath and counted to ten, controlling himself. “In here, Sammy,” he called from the bathroom. He hoped he sounded normal.

Footsteps approached the door. “You okay?” He was right next to the door.

“Yeah, yeah…’m fine, Sam.” It came out gruff, annoyed.

He could hear Sam sigh in relief, “What happened?”

“Nothing. Uh…there was a spider.” It was a lame excuse and he knew it. “Did you find anything out?” he tried, hearing Sam retreat from the door so he could exit the bathroom.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam pulled out a page of symbols from a notebook. “It’s all in Enochian, I thought Cas could make some sense of it.”

Dean scoffed at him, going to sit down on the bed before changing his mind and wandering over the window. “What? Why?”

“Dude, what is up with you? You’ve been all weird every time I mention Cas—even weirder when he’s here and you guys aren’t all up close and personal.” Sam shook his head, laying down his research on his undisturbed bed.

“Yeah, well, why should we be?” Dean wasn’t looking him in the eye and the taller Winchester was getting more annoyed by the minute. What happened to the whole honesty thing? Or, at least, the attempts at it.

Sam wasn’t going to take much more of this bullshit. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t expect you to be as close as you used to, but, seriously, man, you guys have always been on the verge of fighting, or, I don’t know, fucking,” at this, Dean flushed, sick feeling returning, “so why are you suddenly avoiding him like he’s got angel cooties?”

“Just drop it, Sam,” he growled at his brother, and, in a new attempt to distract himself, searched for his coat.

“It was outside.”

Dean paused, confused, “What?” His brows knit together and just before realization dawned on him, Sam said it anyway.

“Your jacket. It was outside. Which is another reason I really need to know what’s going on.” He stood, grabbing Dean’s shoulder to get his brother’s full attention, causing Dean to wince.

The older Winchester was reminded yet again of just what exactly he’d done as Sam gripped the bruises he was sure Castiel had left on him. He was still hoping Sam wouldn’t say anything about it, but no such luck.

“Dean, you _need_ to tell me what happened.” His hand dropped from his brother’s shoulder, as if his empathy would change Dean’s attitude.

It didn’t matter to him that Sam was only concerned, Dean had no intention of spilling his new secret—or was it a very old one? “Nothing. It’s not going to happen again, so what does it matter?”

Sam straightened his shoulders, his brother’s stubbornness getting to him more than he’d like to admit. “Well, for one thing, it seems to have to do with Cas—” A thought wormed its way to the forefront of his mind, but…that was ludicrous. Why would Dean— He glanced back at the torn apart bed next to his. He shook his head, sighing, “You know what? I’m not sure I want to know, but if you ever feel like telling me, I’m here.” Dean suspected Sam was still trying for chick flick moments and he had a feeling that despite his bravado, he’d had quite a few of them.

“Great, Sam, now I’m gonna leave before you tell me about your first period.” He grabbed the keys off of Sam’s bed and made his way to the door. “What may or may not have happened is none of your damn business.” With that, he was out in the cold air and realized his jacket must be back in the room. A slight shiver shot through him but he ignored it, crawling into the Impala and cranking up the heat, deciding against a bar, instead a drive seemed like a good idea.

Half a mile from the motel, it happened. “Dean.”

He swerved, “Jesus, Cas.” He let himself briefly look at the angel, who seemed the same as always, before his concentration was back on the road.

“What…transpired between us,” Cas managed, “was a mistake.” He said it firmly, resolutely, like he really believed it.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean responded automatically, but when he glanced back at Cas, his friend looked crestfallen. “Look, Cas…” He started, but he didn’t know how to end it, or what he should say—what he _meant_ to say.

“I want to say that I understand, Dean, but I don’t. I really don’t. You humans have such complex emotions and I’m affected by them. It was…jealousy that I felt before. That I still feel.” He paused and Dean stayed silent, knuckles going white as he gripped the steering wheel. “Sex is both simpler and…more complicated than I imagined.” The staggering way he spoke, trying to understand how to say what he meant, how to explain his feelings, made Dean take pity on him.

They came to a red light and he turned to the angel. “Cas, I’ve slept with more women than I can count, but most of them didn’t mean anything to me.” Castiel stared out the window. “That’s why this thing between us was so…weird. When I slept with fake you, and he said those things about how it was obviously gonna be you and me, it got to me.” The light turned green and Dean hesitated a bit longer than he should, the car behind him honking their horn. Dean pushed down on the gas a little harder than he meant to. Seeing a sign for a diner up ahead, he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine.

Castiel hadn’t spoken and Dean took it as his cue to continue. “I thought fucking him would be the same as anyone else. And it was. But…” The Winchester ran his hand over his face and felt a chill with the car off and him in only a T-shirt. He didn’t know how to explain himself.

“At least I won’t die a virgin.” Castiel said it seriously, but when Dean looked at him, a smile was playing at the corners of his lips.

Dean couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as Cas tried to, what? Lighten the mood? A feeling came over him and he leaned towards the angel, his mouth covering Castiel’s. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but, pulling back and searching Castiel’s face, he saw surprise, and a bit of a blush, it seemed.

“Hey, uh, you wanna go in? Get something to eat?” He gestured to the diner about a hundred feet from them.

Castiel smiled, as much as Dean has ever seen him smile when he wasn’t high, “I think I’d like to sit with you while you ate.” It was a simple, earnest answer and Dean lit up.

They exited the car, Dean shivering in the night air. Castiel took note, removing his trench coat. “Here, your human body is much more sensitive to temperature. Your immune system could become weakened.”

A little voice in Dean’s head told him he should refuse and that they were being utterly, disgustingly like a couple, but he accepted it and put it on. He felt somewhat ridiculous, but he was also warmer—the coat having been pre-heated by Castiel. It felt nice, in a strange way.

They proceeded into the Bluebird Diner and Dean began ogling the pies in the display case at the front. He tapped the glass to indicate the apple pie to Cas, turning back to look at him as he did, “You want some, too?”

Castiel shrugged, causing Dean to sigh—pie was obviously something he should learn to be more enthusiastic about. They sat down in a booth next to a window. There were quite a few others there and Dean checked the time. It was only eight thirty.

It was funny to see Cas sitting across from him, without the trench coat, Dean could make out more of his lithe frame, his tie hanging loose and uneven around his neck. Without thinking, he leaned across the table to fix it.

Their waitress cleared her throat as he sat back down. Dean flushed, but thanked her for the menu she offered. Castiel simply took it and began flipping through the pages.

“Hi, I’m Lucy and I’ll be your server tonight. I’ll give you two a few minutes to look over the menu.” She smiled at them and walked off. She was cute, the kind of girl he’d normally be hitting on, but it seemed inappropriate when Castiel looked up from the colorful pages at him and was _smiling_ again.

“Want anything?” Dean asked, pointing at the menu.

Castiel’s eyes flickered down to it and back up towards Dean. “I don’t require anything. I’m happy to just watch you eat.”

Dean huffed, “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you _wanted_ anything, so?”

The angel pursed his lips and stared at the pictures of food as if they held some kind of closely guarded secret and he needed to figure out what it was.

The waitress reappeared with two waters. “Anything else to drink?” She had her pen at the ready.

The Winchester glanced back down to see his choices. “Yeah, um, a chocolate milkshake,” he paused and looked at his friend, who seemed to be at a loss, “and I think we’re ready to order.”

“Alright, what’ll you have?”

Dean smiled at her, “An order of fries and two slices of apple pie.”

She looked over to Castiel, but he just gripped his water glass. Dean grabbed his menu and stacked it with his, handing it to her. “Thanks.”

“Just let me know if you need anything else,” and with that, she was gone again.

“Why did you order two slices of pie?” the angel inquired.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” He grinned at Cas and they sat there mostly in silence while they waited, Dean playing with the hems of the trench coat sleeves around his wrists.

When Lucy put down the plates in front of them, Dean eagerly grabbed his fork. Castiel stared at the pie.

The hunter picked up Castiel’s fork and put it in his hand, “Come on, try it.”

He grabbed a french fry and shoved it in his mouth while he waited. At long last, he stabbed his own fork into Castiel’s piece and brought a bite up to his lips. Castiel opened his mouth hesitantly and Dean quickly filled it with warm apple pie.

People were staring at them. Dean licked his fork as he brought it back from Castiel’s mouth. “What? A dude can’t feed another dude pie?” He took a bite of his own pie and saw that Cas did the same. “You like it?”

Castiel nodded and the Winchester watched in amazement as he ate about half of it before looking at the fries and shake.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged, watching as Cas ate his first french fry.

“This is delicious,” he told Dean, chewing as he did.

Dean couldn’t stop grinning and went for the shake, noticing that there were two straws. Castiel leaned in at the same time, the ideas of waiting and personal space didn’t mean much to him. Dean felt a bit insecure, but, fuck what people thought, they could share.

They finished the meal and paid, getting more looks than Dean had ever gotten from non-demons as they left.

“No offense, Cas, but if you’re going to put out on a first date, you’re supposed to do it after not before.” At this, the angel blushed and Dean could really see how human he’d become. He shrugged off the coat and handed it back to Castiel. Reaching for the door, he asked, “Hey, uh, would you wanna stay in the room for a bit? We could watch a crappy movie with Sam…” Sam. That was going to be awkward, but he’d probably already discovered the half-empty bottle of lotion, so he likely didn’t want to ask too many questions.

Castiel nodded and disappeared into the car. They sat there a moment. “Dean, can I…” The hunter looked at him and Castiel responded by pressing chapped lips to his. Dean responded, mouth opening as Castiel dared to dart his tongue in to slide against Dean’s, his hands reaching for Dean’s. It went on until someone whistled at them.

Flustered, Dean started the car and they made their way back to the motel in silence, and, hey, if Castiel’s hand lingered on his during the drive, no one needed to know.

They were outside the motel room door and Dean paused, shifting his stance and staring at the door handle. “Cas, I just want you to know that I, uh,” he grabbed the handle, “I like you or whatever.” He opened the door to greet Sam, who was watching TV, but shot up when he came in.

“Dean.”

Castiel followed him in, “Hello, Sam.”

He looked confused and quite possibly suspicious, “Uh, hey, Cas.” Sam turned his attention back towards his brother, attempting to question him nonverbally.

“Good, so we all know each other.” Dean didn’t respond to his brother. He propped up a pillow flopped down onto his mess of a bed. Castiel stared down at the tangle of sheets on the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. The older Winchester ignored it and grabbed the remote from the nightstand, patting the spot on the bed next to him.

The angel sat down, back flat against the headboard.

Sam shifted, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Dean, what…” He just stared at the two of them.

Dean shrugged. “See? Nothing.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed before he looked at Sam, “Dean and I had intercourse.”

Dean sputtered, Sam just laughed, “About time.”

“Dean also had sex with a man who looked like my vessel in the universe Balthazar sent you to.” Dean knew that he should never have said “nothing.”

Sam was laying back on his bed, spasming in a fit of laughter, “You had sex with _Misha_?”

Glaring, Dean turned towards Castiel, who, if he didn’t know any better, he would say he looked _smug_. He rolled onto his side, “It was better with you.”

“He was a man, Dean, I’m an angel.”


End file.
